Heights
by Irkala
Summary: Just entertaining an interesting thought I've always had. Those who can see those subtle and sometimes eerie mannerisms in her would hopefully see where I'm coming from. Still trying to flesh it out.
1. Chapter 1

**Part I**

**Incoherence **

He began to notice something was wrong fairly quickly. Somewhere in between glances and small movements out of the corner of his eye he observed something of a specter coming from her, a dark shadow that he couldn't quite describe.

Surely Minato was imagining it though. And with the passing time he would brush her off, brush it off. She was a kind girl after all, she'd _never _do anything to harm anyone or anything, or at least he liked to think such a comforting reassurance. In reality, Yamagishi was a very peculiar girl. Petite and introverted, curious and observant; she was a meticulous and careful intelligence that often had a motherly aura to her, carefully looking out for everyone in their group of friends. Hanging behind on their missions and whispering into his ear during their travels, she was something of an anchor that always promised a safe return. Everyone loved her, everyone respected her—yet he couldn't shake it, he couldn't shake the eerie shiver that went down his spine when they made eye contact, when they would sit alone for those brief moments in the living room of their dorm. Her eyes were a deep grey with a peculiar tint of green, almost alien like in those moments of dimmed light during the night hours; he could _feel _them looking at him from across the room, going through him, taking something away from him.

Perhaps it was all in his head, perhaps he was over-analyzing everything. Still, her blank and almost lifeless stares and her silent murmuring to herself he thought he caught now and then continued to unsettle him, to remind him that something wasn't quite right with their rather gentle friend. He couldn't see her being unstable or violent, but the tension she hung around herself was unmistakable. Even stranger, no one seemed to notice, no one seemed to care. They were all warm to her, seemingly unaware of her bizarrely sinister aura, or what seemed to emanate off of her.

She didn't intend to give off these feelings. On the contrary actually, she wanted to stay under the radar. Being as reserved as she was, she preferred to stay subtle, unnoticed, unseen. She was glad her friends and roommates trusted her and enjoyed her presence; in truth she could hardly say the same about all of them.

As an introvert, she had mastered the art of keeping things inside. With recent traumatic events, she felt something different. After being left in that otherworldly darkness, she'd been losing sleep for weeks. Nightmares of that shadowy dimension and the nightmarish creatures and entities that her roommates had saved her from kept her up continuously. People had left her there in the first place though, her peers had stranded her on that surreal and dark plane. She tried to forgive them, and in some sense she did—deep down it still festered though: trusting others, giving her confidence in her allies; she could feel an intensely burning anger now and again, silently flaring in those random instances throughout the day.

Moreso than that, that peculiar boy, Minato—she couldn't quite understand her fixation on him. It was innocent enough at first; he was among the first she saw in the dark realm, and it was him who seemed to draw her out of the darkness altogether. Now she would sit in silence, watching him think, breathe, _be. _Even when the group was together she could easily tune out everyone else's interference, as if they needn't exist.

_He was special though._

She found it somewhat irritating, to think that someone could be so ubiquitously present in one's mind. At first she thought it may have been a simple crush, a simple affectionate desire—as time passed though, as the season wore on and fall drew near, she began to wonder if it was something different, something obsessive, something _off._

Worse, she found the mysterious draw he had to other people to be infuriating. They didn't notice though, they'd never notice when she'd grit her teeth, when she bide her anger, blankly and silently letting others, namely obnoxious females, flaunt themselves at him. She would meticulously plan out how to approach him, how to speak to him, how to hold herself around him. This was simply how it worked, how her psychology seemed to approach him. He was far above most of these people, even if he didn't know it. So she would wait for him to come to his senses—wait for him to see that she was clearly the optimal choice, the optimal companion. They were all so unaware of her feelings, of her intentions; all caught up in their own lives, in their mission to push back the dark. In some sense this worked in her favor, in some sense this let her inch closer and closer to him. Every mission she'd watch him, astrally looming over him, listening to every word he said, his every breath even. She couldn't shake the bitterness, the anger towards everyone else.

She wanted to take him away from them. She wanted him to see them all for what they were: people who couldn't be trusted. None of them could be trusted after all—Fuuka knew this first hand. Her friends and peers slowly began dissipating into the shade, becoming forms she wanted to stray from, becoming things she couldn't quite grasp. She wanted to love them but she couldn't, only he _deserved_ it. Measures needed to be taken to secure the finality.

He was the only one who seemed to even be solid anymore, and it was that very reason that led her to do what she did.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part II**

**Maladaption **

It was on Fall's looming footsteps that a girl electric crashed through the lovely air around them.

Carved of metal and synthetic flesh, the strange being mesmerized the group's entirety and captivated their hearts in an almost sickening trance. Perhaps it was of pity, perhaps it was out of some sort of distorted and intricate wanderlust, perhaps it was her innocence that drew them in—whatever the reason, everyone curiously followed the girl's footsteps, the mechanical maiden's scent. This inherently wouldn't have bothered Fuuka, and in truth she found herself instinctively drawn to this girl, this _Aigis. _Being machine and peculiar at heart, she found Aigis to be something of a rather protective sort, gentle and infallible. She also saw the machine as a collection of parts and pieces, something to be controlled and manipulated for the superior will like any other machine. Fuuka was good with her hands and good with that kind of activity; perhaps Aigis was simply something to be dissected.

Her naiveté and strange being made her an incredibly interesting spectacle to observe in their daily lives, in that dying summer.

Yet her immediate and intense draw to Minato was all too apparent, in fact it was almost blatantly insistent upon itself, demanding it be acknowledged, demanding that Fuuka should simply turn away. At first it wasn't completely insufferable; perhaps this machine simply saw him as the most important thing to protect for some warped reason of faulted artificial logic. However, it became far more serious when the platonic seams of the relationship began to unwind, and that Aigis' draw to the boy was more intense than that, and far more loving.

Fuuka tried to laugh it off as first, simply trying to bury it under certainties and assurances that weren't there.

Time passed and the dynamics changed however, and almost too quickly the shuttering and nervous laughter turned into a soft and twisted whimpering. She was losing ground, she was losing the battle; a battle he wasn't even aware of.

Or perhaps he was, perhaps this was all a part of his scheme for control. She certainly didn't find the idea funny, and she didn't have time to wait for confirmation. The bottom line was that the machine was taking what was not rightfully its own. There was no doubt that Minato was drawn to Aigis, even if he didn't notice. Fuuka was quick to pick up on this; scanning his face and its every move while Aigis was around, watching and listening to his every response, watching for any sign of _unfaithfulness_. She saw the kind expressions and gestures he made to the machine, that everyone made to her, worshiping her every move. Fuuka could only watch hopelessly from above on their missions, watching as they all progressed into the heart of darkness that she herself seemed to barely crawl from. It made a seething anger inside of her; she would hold her hands to her chest as she watched them, metaphorically holding back all of the fury and excessive madness leaking off of her emerald green heart. This soft and lingering draw to the 'mysterious boy' had warped, turning into a full blown obsession—a _fake _girl had stolen his attention.

This is not something that would be simply ignored, that Fuuka could easily ignore.

However, dispatching of Aigis would be no easy task; her makeup was not only machine, but tactical and efficient, not something Fuuka could easily take down herself. She did what she knew best: biding her time, waiting for that opening. The machine was just that—a machine that could be dismantled; with her consciousness and human sentience she would be that much more easy to knock down.

The others all adored her, surely they wouldn't see eye to eye with Fuuka on this. That was fine, they weren't to be trusted anyway. They were obstacles all their own, all victims and targets to be dismantled and put away, just like Aigis.

On missions Fuuka's astral body through Lucia's own would begin to bleed over Aigis synthetic one; Fuuka churned her Self into Aigis' aura, through the machine's desperate attempts to mimic humans, to mimic their summoning of the mind's unconscious; she was trying to get inside the machine's head, at any cost. This didn't prove to be completely fruitful, and in the end Fuuka found that Aigis' consciousness was not something her human mind could fully decode or understand. This in idea, she decided to whisper over Minato's shoulder even more, uttering points and notions of the group's instability, of everyone's faults and cracks, what she saw in them through her mind's eye. He would curiously listen, and she began to see him mentally cataloging every word she said, every word she hissed into his mind. A work of deceit and illusions, all for a greater cost, she pushed forward to claim what was _hers._

Aigis was something that could be taken apart, something that was pieced together and assembled. Fuuka saw something that merely needed to be removed, revoked—with the rest of them.

The group would draw together day in and day out. She would take her time to quietly watch all of them—whether it be at the dorm or at school, to watch them interact, to watch them unknowingly dig themselves deeper into her plan. They all saw a girl of few words in Fuuka, and through her kind and gentle smile she hid a toxic scheme to consume all of them, to push them out of the way for _him. _

The other boys were dense and occupied, completely unable to see any resemblance of what was happening, of what she had in store for them. The girls were too lost in their own egos; to Fuuka's benefit of course. Although, one in particular by the name of Mitsuru she found to be intimidating in the least. She was not only sharp but incredibly aware; no doubt she too may be a problem later, possibly even aware of Fuuka's motivations. There wasn't a lot of time left then, and logically Mitsuru would have to be _removed _rather quickly before any further action was taken. If the leader was taken out, the structure would fall—the missions wouldn't be as coordinated and efficient: they too would disintegrate. Furthermore, Fuuka could much easier pick the others off without having to worry about Mitsuru's keen eye. Aigis was an issue all the same; the Kirijo group's interests aside and Aigis' too, there was no doubt that the machine was going to be a difficult obstruction. Everyone already considered her an incredibly valuable asset to the mission and found a pillar of support in, even Minato.

In a rage Fuuka would toss and turn at night, watching creatures move around her room in the shadows, laughing and praying on her madness, on her mind's retching and cracking under the situation's helplessness. She couldn't lose to the machine, but she wouldn't be able to get the true upper hand against Aigis either most likely. Other girls threw themselves at him all the time, but the machine hardly had to try to work to draw his interest. This drove Fuuka to grim heights of dissent and bitterness; she saw the objective ahead of her fine now, she saw how and who she wanted to take care of and remove from the picture so Minato would be hers.

In her quietness they could all never know how loud and unyielding she truly was. And in the ticking and aching silence in her blank stares and scans of her peers, she was tending to the seeds of their demise she had planted in her mind so long ago.

As Summer finally came to a complete close she saw the twilight of their circle, of the realized state of things. Now, it was time for her to act and take what was _hers._


	3. Chapter 3

**Part III**

**Method**

The warmth in the nights waned as a chill crept into the air. There was an eerie silence that loomed around the dorm and hung over everyone, almost signaling the oncoming demise. Off and on, naturally with The Syndrome going around town and its inhabitants, gloom would ebb and flow with a sort of virtual tide. Fuuka would find herself watching the moon blanket itself from the city, shielding itself from the horrors below, from her horror.

She could only utter small talk now. Her social queue had dissolved into quick and vapid phrases to appease her roommates, to keep them out of her head.

"_How was your day?"_

She'd always make sure to turn the attention onto them, to turn them back onto themselves, unaware of her shadow. Her gentle façade was more than a little useful; it was the only thing keeping her hidden. However, she had her suspicions, and she would often catch her dorm-mate Mitsuru watching her, gazing at her from atop a sharp glare. There was questioning and suspicion behind her stare, and there was no doubt that there were calculating and turning gears as well. Perhaps she was on to Fuuka; maybe she saw the eerie shade under Fuuka's skin, the twisted machinations in her mind. This, as previously mentioned, was only more credence to the idea that Mitsuru would be one of the biggest threats to Fuuka's plan.

Grinding her teeth she would ponder how to dissect and deconstruct the walls and obstacles around her, forcing away the corroding reality her thoughts churned in.

That aside the idea was rather simple: originally she wanted to dispose of the others - the girls on her floor, namely Mitsuru, and the boys below. In the end she found that all unnecessary and unneeded. Despite her initial feelings of distrust and dissent with them, it wasn't logical to attempt on their lives, to free them from this world. Also, they were all considerably stronger than her; more likely than not she'd be over powered - the risk was too great. The focus of the plan was Minato, and that's what she needed to go straight towards. If done in the night at the right time, they shouldn't be an issue anyway.

So there would be one—or two. He wouldn't be alone, no that'd be too easy. Aigis' turn. It was noted that Aigis had a habit of disappearing and winding up in _his _room. Just the thought of this blasphemous act would make Fuuka's skin crawl.

Fuuka was counting on Aigis being there though, being there alongside _him _in his room, watching him, watching what was not hers. Fuuka had been considering that through some advanced sensory technology, perhaps the mechanical maiden would be able to sense disturbances and movements in her electric surveillance. Curiosity piqued, she'd wander off into the dorm, searching for the source. This is where the plan forked; if Aigis were to wander off, Fuuka would have to move quickly to finish up the strategy. However, if Aigis were still in his room upon Fuuka's entering, there would need to be some quick thinking to react accordingly.

Fuuka had been working on a small device that would incapacitate the steel seraph in her footsteps; she was incredibly excited to test it out and put the _faker _in her place and remind her what she was, a synthetic, a simulacra, a doll, parts and pieces to be manipulated and removed. Then, there, finally alone, she'd have Minato all to herself. He'd have to accept it, he'd have to accept her. It wasn't about her enforcing her will upon him—that's not what she saw it as anyway—it was about showing him what he'd been overlooking the whole time.

She would cook a treat for them to eat together, one carefully blended with _special _ingredients. It would whisk them both away to a new world without the _fake _girl and their uncouth peers. She'd been calculating this for a long time; the poison would be slow and painful, she wanted to savor every second of pain with him. She wanted their insides to churn and ache in absolutely retching discomfort. They would lie together under the dim light of dusk, their bodies withering and writhing in sheer agony, holding each other as they dwindled. It would feel like eons, and in that twisted euphoria they would meet death, their minds dissipating into the ether, their forms ascending to that bright realm Fuuka had so dreamed of so many times. It was perfect, and every time she went over it in her head it brought tears to her eyes. She belonged with him and he with her—it was destiny that their lives end next to each other. She was doing him a favor, them a favor really.

So she watched and listened to her roommates in and out of the dark hour; during she looked through Lucia, observing their every move if they were awake. Night after night she would observe them and all their processes, their mannerisms, their patterns. She looked for a particular time of night that they all were asleep. It was somewhat difficult—one had an incredibly erratic sleep pattern, not something she could rely on. Another seemed to wake up randomly, perhaps suffering some sort of sleep disorder. Sure enough Aigis would traverse the floors, curious and arbitrary; she seemed to be lost in thought, in electric cognitivity. This would be very difficult if it were to be like this on the nights they weren't venturing to Tartarus. Fuuka needed something to secure a fail-safe, to make sure she wouldn't be interrupted as she crept around the dorm, down to see him, down to end _them._

She got what she wished for.

A seasonal flu had been traveling around and sure enough it hit the dorm and its inhabitants. Fuuka saw the warning signs early and armored up; the others weren't so lucky, and one by one they all fell to the early symptoms and eventual down time that the sickness had to offer them. This was perfect; bed ridden or sickly, they weren't in any shape to be wandering around or curiously investigating in the night's late hours. Through Lucia she saw that they were regularly turning in much earlier than before. Aigis obviously wasn't effected being what she was, what _it _was, all the same Fuuka found that Aigis would tend to Minato even more, trying to aid him in his tumultuous sickness. This infuriated Fuuka elevenfold, and clenching her fists she'd watch Aigis move like clockwork around his room, trying to be something she wasn't. It didn't matter, she could be there when the end comes - she needed to be taken care of anyway before they left this world for the better one.

This was it, it was time to make her move. On this next eve, she'd meet the end of her madness' procession.


	4. Chapter 4

**Part IV**

**Rust**

Figuring the right concoction was not a simple task.

Fuuka did her research though, and after a few nights she had already picked out a nice poison. She decided to mix a modified form of Strychnine, a rodent killer—one particularly home to southeast Asia, into a blend of crushed sleeping pills.

This would be rather simple; the sleeping pills needs were obvious, and would hopefully work well in tandem with the horribly effective Strychnine. It wouldn't take long to kick in, but that was okay—in those brief moments after his injection she would have a syringe for herself as well. Together their bodies would breakdown and twist in complete agony under the effects of the toxin churning through their blood stream and destroying their forms.

The thought made her restless, excited, frightened, and above all, _satisfied_. She watched the ceiling that last night, smiling and laughing to herself at the thought of finally getting what she deserved. The next night would be the last. That morning she watched the sun rise; awake, aware, poised, she felt the menacing darkness just under her skin warping and contorting in anxiety, begging to blot out the sun with its deep and unyielding shade.

Her smile felt real for the first time in a very long while as she walked into the school. It was strange doing it genuinely after so long of acting it out. Her dorm-mates, her friends; they all blatantly missed the looming demons under her footsteps, they all accepted her small talk, they all blindly missed the obvious. She sat through each class, counting forwards and backwards to astronomically large and small numbers, watching the clock, waiting for every second to pass bringing her closer to her end, to _their _end. She tried to take it all in, to appreciate it one last time. She couldn't though, in the end it was all too distant for her. Briefly she lamented at her inability to truly adjust, to truly accept the world around her - to be _normal. _The dark world was too much like a second home now. Her head ticked and churned with its tendrils. Her face felt hot with anticipation and a powerful shuttering danced through her body. She watched his every move while she could. Every person he talked to, every whore who threw themselves his way, every moment he had alone to quietly carry himself along the slowly passing time, it all seemed so serene in that twilight, in that eerie final day.

She couldn't wait, and thankfully she didn't have to. Inevitably dusk fell and the day came to a slow end. As she predicted, everyone was still suffering the lasting effects of the flu and wasn't in much a mood to be social or anything else for that matter. They all sat on the bottom floor's living room, briefly conversing on the mission, on the darkness, the shadows, all things that meant nothing after what she had planned. As they talked, Fuuka would glance up and catch Mitsuru scanning her, taking her in, _breaking her down._ The group would go around, the conversation from person to person—Fuuka would find herself having to chime in and she would, however briefly and calculated, however little she cared about the subject or whatever they all mindlessly threw out. Mitsuru's staring was beginning to irritate Fuuka more than she could stand though; Mitsuru couldn't keep her gaze to herself and it would cost her. Fuuka decided right then and there that before she would _ascend _with Minato, she would make sure to take out Mitsuru as well. While it wasn't completely necessary, she felt that it would at least relieve some of the bitter tension she had towards Mitsuru; a quick errand to take care of before her meeting with her love. She was willing to make the extra move to get her out of the way.

That aside, slowly but surely they all finished their interactions and retreated to their rooms. Fuuka's seething anxiety skyrocketed more than she through possible as they all said their 'good nights' and vanished into the dark of the stairway, some talking amongst each other. Even Mitsuru disappeared to her own quarters - even then though Fuuka couldn't shake that suspicious glare, and as Mitsuru disappeared Fuuka found her gritting her teeth again, staring emptily into the dark, whispering to the dead.

With that she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

_It was time._

She made her way upstairs to her room, eagerly and anxiously pushing her fingers together, ecstatically pondering the future to come.

The deathly mix was already complete and deposited into 3 syringes. She capped each and placed them into a hollowed out book she bought specifically for this occasion. They fit in neatly, almost perfectly. With that she stepped out of her room into the dark, the walls alight with shadows and menacing grimaces, the dense darkness almost swallowing her as she entered the hallway. She realized she was in her pajama's and at first the thought bugged her. She didn't want to _ascend _in her pajamas. It didn't seem right for him either. Yet after a bit more of pondering it the thought seemed alright. Perhaps a warped metaphor for eternal sleep, perhaps it was a fitting symbol of their loving and aeon like rest.

She began her approach, walking as lightly as she could. Mitsuru would need to go first; and that in mind she stopped in front of her door, opening the book briefly to look at a syringe, at _her _death.

Just as suddenly she heard a mechanical whirring just down the hall. She froze, realizing how vulnerable she was there in that darkness, how open she was to the demons trailing her. Turning she saw a faint light at its end and off to the side—the vending machine, someone getting a refreshment no doubt. This wasn't a large issue—assuming it wasn't Mitsuru. Fuuka bit her lower lip, nervously approaching the end of the hall. Each door slid by almost menacingly, and each step took eons to fall. She found her stomach tying into itself more and more each millisecond that passed.

Finally she reached the end, hearing a pop as a can of some drink or another opening. Just around the corner was either her salvation or demise. She swallowed and took a few steps forward, slowly turning to the machines. The silence boomed in her ears and in that moment she felt as if her heartbeat were going to break her eardrums.

Immediately her heart plummeted, and she felt her grip tighten to astronomical strength around the book.

Mitsuru seemed to be spacing out into the dark, quietly thinking to herself as she sipped her drink. It was obvious she heard Fuuka approach though, and she took one last sip as she turned, faintly smiling in that dim light. Her smile seemed to turn into a twisted grin that made Fuuka's face burn with anger. Was she mocking her? Did she know? Had she known this whole time? She couldn't tell if her eyes were playing tricks on her or not, the darkness taunted and contorted their faces to each other no doubt—or had Mitsuru become a creature of the night? Fuuka shuttered to herself, remembering what she had in her book next to her. The space around them tensed up and she felt her body lock into itself.

"_What're you doing walking around Yamagishi?"_

She didn't want to respond—no—she wouldn't respond. She couldn't even if she wanted to though, a large and unmovable lump had emerged in her throat. It was too perfect really, as if willed to reality, Mitsuru was the obstacle to stop Fuuka's plan; all the more reason to take her out, all the more reason to _remove _her.

Fuuka glanced over at the vending machine glowing lightly in the dark around them. Mitsuru was silent for a moment, then chuckled to herself, turning to leave.

_Was it time?_

As she passed Fuuka, she murmured something or other about returning to bed. Fuuka found this somewhat comical, and smiled to herself, lifting up the book. This was it, the moment she'd been waiting for. She needed to hit an artery with the syringe or it may take too long for the poison to work before Mitsuru properly fought back. That in mind, Mitsuru hadn't made it more than a few steps before she felt a sharp pain towards the back of her inner thigh. She yelped and spun around. While Fuuka had succeeded in getting Mitsuru's femoral artery with the syringe, she had overdone the push and gotten knocked down, her book and other syringes flying off to her side.

She had miscalculated; she didn't plan Mitsuru's death out enough it seemed - although she hadn't counted on running into her outside of her room. Fuuka quickly picked up the other syringes scattered by her on the ground, putting them back in the book as Mitsuru cursed almost lazily, already barely coherent. The poison was working, and thankfully her body was beginning to break down quickly. Fuuka pulled off her shirt, bunching it up and lunging at her prey. In a moment she had Mitsuru on the ground. In any other circumstance, Mitsuru would have been able to overpower Fuuka with ease - yet then and there, the poison made her quite immobile. Her eyes were already slowly rolling back as she gasped for air, her body twisting and arching in pain. Foam had begun appearing at her mouth; Fuuka knew that it was now or never and shoved her bunched up shirt into Mitsuru's mouth, pushing it as far down her throat as she could. Mitsuru gagged and reached up, clamping her hands around Fuuka's throat. Her grip was amazingly strong, and if not for the asphyxiation, she quite possibly would have strangled Fuuka to death right then and there, obviously foiling the plan. Her sharp nails dug into Fuuka's throat, trying with their might to attain a freedom from the small reaper before them.

_Die you cunt._

Fuuka giggled as Mitsuru's hands ever so slowly released and fell to her sides. Her face was in horrid grimace as her muscles were tensing and seizing randomly, trying with all their might to calm down. After a bout of muffled gasps and grunts, there was nothing but a deafening silence. Fuuka didn't fret too much about any noise made then and there, after the shirt was shoved down her throat, Mitsuru wasn't too loud at all really. Getting up slowly Fuuka watched as Mitsuru's body began convulsing fiercer, in quick rapid bursts—then closer and more durative ones. Fuuka couldn't risk this causing a ruckus, and she knelt down next to Mitsuru, pinching her nose, cutting off all air with the shirt shoved deep down her throat. In those last moments she convulsed a bit more, desperately gasping for breath of any kind before finally going limp. She was dead.

_She was finally dead. She would stare no longer._

Fuuka sat there for a few minutes, taking it all in. She had killed for the first time and she rather enjoyed every moment of it.

_She deserved it._

Fuuka whispered incoherently to herself; words she didn't know or understand fell out of her mouth as she got up and began dragging Mitsuru's body to the corner of the room. She was fairly heavy—or perhaps Fuuka was too weak; finally she propped her body up in the corner behind the vending machine, making sure was completely out of view for anyone who might get up and get something to drink for themselves. She couldn't have a rampant Akihiko or Yukari in her way with the progression of her plan. Picking up and throwing away Mitsuru's dropped drink, she grabbed her book of demise and made her way downstairs, ecstatic.

This first part, while a little bumpy, had gone quite well. She was very pleased to see that her poison had worked so well. The steps almost pulled her down into the dark onto _his _floor. She could feel herself getting more and more excited as she got farther and farther down, finally stepping onto his level.

The faint light from another vending machine almost laughed at her from the corner, next to the opening of the hall that would inevitably lead to him, to their encounter.

She chuckled to herself, feeling almost delirious with euphoria. She could hear whispering all around her, the shadows egging her on to finish the job, to take him, to finish him, to finish _them._ Hysterical drones and odd ticks could be heard from the dark as she stepped into the hall. The entire building seemed to be watching her, waiting for her next move. She heard no one walking around though, no one making a sound, nothing—simply _dead _silence. It was perfect, it was destiny.

Finally, after what felt like a truly morbid procession, she reached his door. Now, now she would make this all worthwhile. Putting her hand on the handle she thought of his face as she retched in pain, as they withered before each other. Her twisted grin as big as ever, she flung open the door.


	5. Chapter 5

**Part V**

**Mirrors**

Distant, or maybe too close.

_Yamagishi._

She could feel her extremities tensing up, and a part of her beaming to amazing heights as the thoughts drifted to and fro. A dream made real, or a dream that should be real. If only it were to be that easy—no, she knew full well it wouldn't ever be so simple. Even the best odds and outcomes with the minor things, the overall machinations were no doubt working against her, a diabolical machine in the universe trying to keep her separate from her love.

_Yamagishi?! Are you alright?_

Fuuka snapped out of it, spacing off into the dark of the rising staircase just before her a few meters.

How long had she been standing there? How long had she been lost in thought? How long had twisted and surreal fantasies teased her senses?

Mitsuru, somewhat taken back, paused between sips of her spoils from the nearby vending machine, snapped her fingers a small gap from Fuuka's face. Each snap was like thunder as Fuuka slowly but surely came out of whatever hellish dream state she had fallen into. She began to realize however, that having drifted off into the dark abstract of her desires, she had to return to the grim and blunt reality before her. The one she had just killed stood before her once more, as if brought back from some warped limbo inside her head. The boundaries between the real and unreal were beginning to blur more and more. Had she really not killed Mitsuru?

Had she not killed at all? Maybe she was asleep.

_Yamagishi, if you don't snap out of it I'm going to have you taken in for evaluation._

Fuuka could only barely make out the vague threat, picking up on the light chuckle from Mitsuru's direction as well. The sound of Mitsuru's laughter infuriated her tenfold—yet even still, the dense and intoxicating air of the imagined still churned her vision. She could feel her head moving to look at Mitsuru, her eyes dragging ever so slowly along invisible vectors. In response, her vision slowly moved up Mitsuru's figure, half painted in the dark and the nearby artificial light. A rather flawless portrait of the feminine form she may have had, yet her eyes were a cold and piercing focus that sent shivers even down Fuuka's spine, even there in that darkness and unknown. Fuuka sensed demons behind the gaze, but they only paled to what she had behind her own, or what she began to believe. Her hands tightened around her book—her syringes—as she remembered why she was out here, what she was doing, who she was here for, _who _she was looking for. Her eyes now locked onto Mitsuru's, she forced what may have been the most artificial smile in the history of all existence and apologized, commenting on her interest in a beverage for the night.

Mitsuru paused a moment, blankly taking in the lie of the century. Finally she closed her eyes, lightly nodding as she raised her drink for another sip.

She didn't believe a word Fuuka said, that much was obvious. She wouldn't outright admit that though, and Fuuka knew that at least officially, she had an alibi to be here, not necessarily involved with killing off their team's leader, despite how much she wanted to.

While Mitsuru took a brief sip another painfully silent eternity cycled once more. With each sip and swallow Fuuka could feel her muscles tensing, her mind frantically pacing back and forth between twisted impulses and running responses. The air was getting more and more difficult to take in, and listening to Mitsuru's only reminded her how lively her target really was. Knowing a potential specter of death was before her, Mitsuru drank anyway, knowing that Fuuka didn't fully have it in her to cause her any harm, despite any perverse or distorted reason she had to. She needed to decide something fast; kill Mitsuru, or don't. Yet even weighing the pros and cons of both, the probability of mission success was drastically reduced when she was killed. The immoral mathematics of it all made Fuuka sick to her stomach, desperately trying to regain some sort of balance. Mitsuru finished the drink off and gazed down at Fuuka once more. They waited for each other to respond with something, anything representing their predicted actions of one and other. Fuuka eventually couldn't hold her eye contact and looked off into the dark, watching the demons and shadows dance along the dimly lit walls, moving in rhythm to her mind's twisted emanations. Mitsuru finally broke the silence with a warning to hurry back to bed, snapping Fuuka out of yet another warped fantasy. Fuuka nodded and turned to the vending machine, mentally noting the syringe ready and waiting in her book.

Mitsuru walked by unnoticed, unmoved, confident and reassured that Fuuka had no ability to fully realize her intentions, however warped they were. That Fuuka at all had dark emanations of any kind had disturbed Mitsuru for some time, and she had only noticed them - or the vision of them - compounding more and more as time passed these past weeks and months. She predicted that there may be a mental breakdown in the girl's future, yet she felt that a breakdown would be the worst, nothing violent or dangerous, in the end she _could _be saved. With that, Mitsuru disappeared into the dark, certain and hopeful that Fuuka would simply get her alleged drink and return to bed, that she would go back to her room and everything would be fine.

Fuuka gazed at the multitude of beverages behind the glass.

_A world behind the glass._

She was sickened, repulsed, angered, and above all, ashamed for letting Mitsuru go. Her body had frozen up, screaming to pull out a syringe but simply locked and let her go instead. Was it cowardice? Was her confident and psychotic murmurings inside her head truly frightened? The woman was intimidating but Fuuka should've been taken out right there—and could have been too with some effort.

_Move on, he's down below._

Fuuka knew it was too late now, there was no surprise in getting in to Mitsuru's room. She had realized that meeting her out there was the opportune moment to truly realize her initial fantasy of killing the woman off, despite how frightening it was at first. That was gone now; the goal was still steadfast and not at all impeded in this new development. Fuuka turned to the staircase and slowly approached, checking back again and again and again for a watchful eye peeking out of its door. Finally she disappeared down the staircase, the world above vanishing into a swirl of murmuring whispers, and the world below beckoning in a deafening silence.

It was time.


End file.
